


Meronia secret Exchange gift

by TheWhiteOne



Category: Death Note
Genre: M/M, present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:12:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5597596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWhiteOne/pseuds/TheWhiteOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a gift for the exchange</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meronia secret Exchange gift

4 U  
I had a thought the other night, about Mello. God, when is it never him? 

A member of my team is becoming far too conscious of my moods. How he knows so much of me, I will never know. I receive the letter via dove, I wondered if I was in a time warp, this one sided war seems more genuine each time he beckons upon me, like tying a noose and crushing my face into a window. So the letter read that he had fallen into an illness, of which sort he wouldn’t say. I think it would have made him too vulnerable and “open to attack”. I know he is close to me, closer than before. I opened myself wide, without the others watching. I had to consider if I would seek him out, I had to consider how I would behave, how I would present. 

I stewed on it. I don’t want him telling me to go fuck myself to be the last memory I have of him. He has to know how I feel, even only partly. He can’t die thinking I hate him too.

Because I don’t.

I mean there is something not a lot of people around me know, but it’s not something I kept secret. My feelings for Mello are not harsh, in fact, you could even call me tender. I let him have his way for all these years. After L had left us, forever. I won’t let him keep me away this time. If he lives, he will know. And if he dies, well, I can live knowing I tried to make it better. I’m a 20 year old man. I am not a child anymore and I need to stop these childish games. I can’t live like this anymore. I am grown. Mello is grown, I hope he will put it all way to help me. Mello is the unsolvable puzzle, the one thing I can truly love; because I can never find a reason to hate him. I grasp my finger puppet and run over his scarred face in my mind.

I need to do it.

~

The day I am going to go, I give everybody something to do, everybody a reason to avoid me. For that, nobody will notice my absence. I travel alone to the hospital and traverse through it’s shiny white floors and walls, to the room where my rival stayed.

I had never seen someone usually so volatile and dangerous and intimidating look so small. I had never seen Mello look so small. Mello was always alight with movement, too big for his body, with a gaze that would gut into anything for a bit of information specifically on how to push your buttons and manipulate you. Seeing him lie dormant with the thin hospital blanket draped over his legs and with IVs tethered to each wrist, it felt wrong. The world was out of balance, because getting the world to stop spinning was about as easy as getting Mello to still.

I’ve never liked places like this. Where the smell of rubbing alcohol permeated and stuck to your clothes and there was the sound of creaking gurney wheels— and sobbing, distant sobbing. The only thing to turn my mind away from the mental override was to examine how sharp Mello’s nose was and how it crinkles in his troubled sleep. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to leave before he wakes. I’m determined to make things right. I’m plagued by the thought that he may need me here. I take the corner of the frayed blanket and fold it back and forth, watching and waiting. A sentinel with dark eyes.

I don’t know how long it was before those blonde eyelashes fluttered, and even longer before his blue eyes took in the sight of me. He stared, as if I was a ghost or hadn’t expected me to come. Then Mello pushed himself up abruptly, broken out of a trance, muttering something like not being serious about the damn invitation, Near. I chose to focus on the heart monitor rather than on his face. 

You were serious, and you know it, Mihael. Instead I say, “Merry Christmas to you too.”

He almost smirks, it plays on his lips but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t bother staying any longer if you didn’t bring me a present.”

~

“When you get out of here,” I say when and not if because I’d rather not think about that, it may not be serious but Mello hasn’t said anything about it yet and that’s worrying, “would you consider—“

“No,” He says nonchalantly over a fruit cup the nurse had brought him. “Drop it already.”

My lips purse. His eyes flick up as I tug at a strand of hair. 

“… You really wouldn’t?” 

Mello taps the plastic spoon against his mouth and looks strangely thoughtful for a good ten seconds. He looks at me, at the IVs and all the equipment, down to his knees and back at me. “Let me ask you something. Why’d you come here? I fully expected you not to. You know, because you’re an uncaring bastard. But you did. Is it because you think you can use me? Like by doing this you can persuade me into turning into one of your pawns?”

I think of saying a lot of things. That maybe, I used to, but I can’t think of you that way now. That I don’t think you’re nearly that pathetic. That this isn’t a game anymore. This isn’t about L or Kira or anything urgently relevant except for the fact that I need to be around you. It may very well be irrational but that’s something I’ve come to terms with. I stand, abandon the last vestiges of hesitation, and sit on the edge of the bed, in closer proximity to him now than I have been for the past few years.

My thoughts are jumbled. I have to say something or I never will, and there’s a creeping possibility that time won’t allow me another chance beyond this one. 

“I’ve grown tired of games, Mello.”

He regards me with something like contempt mixed with curiosity. He’s listening intently.

“There’s something I hold much more dear to me that I’m trying to get from you. And it is only if you’ll allow it.” I’m not making much sense, I know it, but Mello’s eyes are an open book compared to what guarded accusations lay in them previously, so he must be understanding…something. Which is good. I’m at a loss on what else to tell him from here. He sees my desperate casting around for words and reaches for my wrist, pulling me down next to him. He mutters about my being hopeless at trying to describe my own feelings. 

The bed is just big enough to fit the slim of our two bodies combined. I try not to lay on anything that’s connected to Mello. 

~

We bask in each others warm breath, barely touching, until after some time he places warmer fingers on my cheek. He says something I don’t expect. 

“I thought you were an atheist.” I hum in confirmation. “Why’d you wish me a Christmas then—“

“Mello,” I tilt my head forward until our foreheads touch. “Go back to sleep.”


End file.
